


The Iron Empire: A Novel and Codex of the Fourth Legion

by Thunderscourge



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Blood and Violence, Codex - Freeform, F/M, Horus Heresy Civil War (Warhammer 40.000), Post-Horus Heresy Civil War (Warhammer 40.000), Pre-Horus Heresy Civil War (Warhammer 40.000), Rebellion, Remove Choas, Renegade Astartes, Renegade Space Marines, Renegades and Heretics, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29435874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderscourge/pseuds/Thunderscourge
Summary: While many sons of Olympia who sought utopia abandoned it come their fall, there still remain those who hold true to their vision. Standing apart from their Chaos worshiping kin, the Iron Empire fights all who would deny them their vision. Beside them are those they have freed from corrupt Imperial governance and from the grips of Chaos, uniting under a common purpose and goal to survive the unforgiving 41st Millennium.A novel and Codex of the Fourth Legion: Iron Within, Iron Without.
Relationships: Iron Warriors/Female Imperial Guard
Comments: 18
Kudos: 9





	1. Introduction

** The Iron Empire **

_A novel and Codex of the Fourth Legion_

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**_”Warsmith, behind you!”_ **

Trahaearn Jarn was already aware of the Word Bearer approaching him from his rear even before Levente shouted it: by the time the words finished reaching his ears the Warsmith had twisted his massive form around to bring his Power Maul through the charging Astartes' helmet. Blood and flesh erupted from where a head once lay upon the man's shoulders, the body hitting the damp floor of the primitive temple twenty paces from where it had been before.

Before Jarn stood a dozen more of the Word Bearer's ilk, one of whom was wearing the regalia and markings of a Dark Apostle. Levente stood behind him along with Urkamus and the other members of the team Jarn brought with him to this location, the six of them standing guard by the door and driving back what Word Bearers may seek to reinforce their kin inside.

Hundreds of other Iron Warriors stood in battle against Cultists and Heretic Astartes alike under the orders of their Warsmith, none holding any loyalty to their Warp-infested kin who laid siege to this once peaceful world. They had come to this planet with a purpose, only to find a Warband already present and posing a threat to their objective: for that reason Jarn had led his forces personally in haste against their fellow traitors to the Imperium.

”Godless cur, you dare trespass upon land dedicated to our lords?” the Dark Apostle hissed in a voice unnerving to the ear, the taint of the Warp even going so far as to distort his vocal chords.

The Apostle held out his corrupted crozius threateningly, but Jarn paid it no mind just as he did not react to the eleven other Word Bearers slowly skulking around the medieval building they all had gathered in. His eyes instead fell to the black-clad bodies on the floor, the corpses of two Fallen Angels from Caliban maimed savagely amidst dozens of Cultists and a handful of Word Bearers. Wounds on the surviving sons of Lorgar indicated that the warriors of Caliban had carved into them before falling, the markings of Power Swords ripping through ceramite easy for Jarn to decipher even in the fading light of the day.

This temple had been the home of those Fallen, and here they were about to be sacrificed by their assailants like they were no better than lambs. Though a stoic by nature, the gruesome sight still elicited emotion in the veteran Astartes' face as his lips slowly twisted into a scowl.

”I know of no gods, only malcontents whose thirst and hunger are impossible to slake.”

Far from a fool, the Word Bearer Apostle recognized that the Space Marine before him was no loyal dog of the Imperium, for none would dare to wear the armor of Perturabo himself: while uncertain if it was the Logos itself or a mere imitation, the armor appeared just as the Word Bearer had seen recorded in tales of the Horus Heresy. While altered to fit an atypically tall and broad Astartes instead of a Primarch, the Logos was still massive and an imposing sight that held even the zealous followers of Chaos at bay...for now at least.

”Even your primogenitor has given himself to those you slander with your vile tongue. Will you bow now to the enlightenment of the Great Ones, or shall I offer you as a sacrifice in their name?”

While perhaps futile, converting such an individual would no doubt bring favor from the Dark Lords. It was worth the attempt, if only to confirm that this would end in conflict before committing to it.

Jarn lifted his arms to have them outstretched like he was the one about to give a sermon, ”To never bow again, to never break again, I forged my Iron Legion with my own two hands. If nine Iron Warriors could not fell me when they were commanded to, you shall be no different.”

Come the end of his declaration Jarn opened fire with the cannons mounted upon each wrist, a hail of gunfire cutting down four of the Word Bearers instantly right as their leader yelled for them to attack. Two more perished before they could reach the Warsmith, his projectiles leaving gaping holes where their abdomens once were, and another died instantly as his maul cleaved the upper half of their body off in an explosion of gore.

With less than half their starting number left to fight Jarn ignored the Power Axes colliding with his body to instead use his height advantage to lift his arms above the flailing blows of the Word Bearers and open fire on their Apostle. To the Apostle's credit he avoided some of the flurry of shots by lunging aside with unnatural reactions, but those which landed true tore chunks out of his Power Armor and knocked him to the floor for the time being.

The four striking Jarn soon realized why it was he was comfortable ignoring them, and their eyes widened beneath their helms as their weapons left no lasting impact: they were trying to break through the armor of a Primarch with tools that did not always succeed at piercing through the armor of a typical Astartes. The tools they had used to slay countless Loyalists as well as the Fallen of this world were no better than a lasgun's bayonet.

That was Jarn's intention when crafting the suit of armor whose schematics were passed down to him by his mentor Forrix: to survive whatever was thrown his way, no matter the odds. To make certain that this life he had fought his own brother Astartes to the death to keep was not wasted on some unworthy foe's blade.

Jarn's maul swung against the Word Bearers surrounding him one after another, his goal being to drive them back and prevent them from targeting structural weaknesses in his armor since every suit possessed them: he just had to beat them down enough so that exploiting them was impossible. While one fell trying to lunge for the neck of his suit, another tried leaping upon his back only for Jarn to catch not the Astartes but the Power Sword that had been embedded in their side by the Fallen.

With his grip on the blade, Jarn ripped it through their body in mid-air and bisected the agile foe cleanly before stabbing it down into another. To conserve his momentum Jarn twisted and threw his maul at the rising form of the Apostle, caving their helmet and face in swiftly as he used his now bare hand to grab the last of his enemies by the face.

The Astartes in his palm had bulging muscles and two axes, being what appeared to be a barbarian dedicated to Khorne if the bloodied etchings on his armor were any indication...but that did not save him from the might of the Logos Secundus. It amplified Jarn's strength and allowed him to crush their helmet and skull as if he was crushing a rotten apple, their cursed blood splattering on its metal.

Levente, a Neophyte born of Jarn's own preserved Gene Seed, witnessed it all given that what few reinforcements came to this area had been cut down by Urkamus already. The Neophyte's eyes were wide with awe as Jarn dropped the corpse to the floor, only for Levente to look down and bow his head in respect as Jarn looked his way.

”Levente, let this be a lesson to you: the whims of the Ruinous Powers are dangerous, and never to be trusted. This fool no doubt believed the Blood God would lead him to victory, when in reality it matters not whose blood is shed so long as it is.”

Jarn knew Levente well already, as young as he was, and knew that the young man had potential to be a Champion of their Legion: of the Neophytes they possessed none had been able to match Levente in close combat, and his might and stubborn nature were his strengths. It would be important for him to not be lured to the likes of Khorne, and what better way than to crush a Khornate follower through raw strength provided by something the Iron Warriors valued more than Chaos: technology.

The Neophyte saluted his superior, taking his words to heart before returning to join the squad he had been assigned to in the meantime by Jarn, ”Iron Within, Iron Without!”

In Levente was half of the Primarch Jarn had known, for he could be tempestuous and ill-tempered but those were not always bad qualities: it allowed Levente to act quickly and one day would allow him to be an effective shock trooper who could break any line in a siege...or so Jarn hoped of him. He was fond of the boy, and hoped to raise him to his full potential some day.

That being said, they were now joined by another: a figure in dull grey armor emerged from the shadows as if he had always been there, ready to spring into action had his Warsmith needed it.

Greeting the new arrival with a nod, Jarn gave orders to his other soldiers so as to allow them some privacy, ”I do not wish to be disturbed. Urkamus, secure the perimeter.”

The veteran sergeant nodded, his voice gruff as he motioned for Levente to follow him, ”As you wish. Come, Neophyte.”

Once they were gone Jarn spoke freely to his agent, for while he took pride in possessing fine warriors and siege commanders even he needed someone to provide him intel.

”It is good to see you again Asier, though I wish it was under better circumstances. It would appear we were too late to act on your information.”

The quiet soldier observed the Fallen briefly before returning his gaze to Jarn, being tall enough to just about look him in the eye unlike most others in their Legion, ”It was unavoidable. Their deaths bought us valuable time and information.”

”I will entrust the recovery of the artifacts to you whilst the others extract what resources we can from this world before its corruption runs too deep.”

”And you?” Asier asked bluntly as he handed Jarn his mace, having retrieved it before appearing as if from nowhere.

Weapon now in hand, Jarn turned his back to Asier and made his way to the open gate of the temple without delay.

”Lives are not a commodity I value lightly. Had we arrived sooner we may have yet reunited these men with their brethren aboard our fleet. Slaying those who felled them will have to suffice lest we allow their sacrifice to be in vain.”

Knowing that the blood of many a Word Bearer was about to be shed, but also that Jarn was in next to no danger, his right hand man simply nodded and allowed him to go unattended. It was that part of Jarn which saw Asier swear his loyalty to him so long ago after all.

”Affirmative.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**IRONCLAD WARRIORS OF INDOMITABLE WILL**

**While many sons of Olympia who sought utopia abandoned it come their fall, there**

**still remain those who hold true to their vision. Standing apart from their Chaos**

**worshiping kin, the Iron Empire fights all who would deny them their vision: the**

**Imperium, the servants of Chaos, the savage Orks, or the endless hordes of the**

**Tyranids, they are no more than obstacles in the way of what the Iron Warriors seek.**

Centuries of attrition warfare have taught the Astartes of the Iron Empire the value of life, having seen and survived commanders who spent the lives of their subordinates like bullets to achieve victory. Once belonging to one of the most numerous Legions, the companies forged into the Iron Empire possess naught but a thousand Astartes warriors capable of battle with twice that many relegated to supporting roles.

Weakness is not forgivable on the vicious battlefields of the 41st millennium, and so the Iron Warriors have adapted rather than bend to the tides of foes which besiege them: if a Basilisk is not enough to fell an enemy, then they shall use ten. If ten do not succeed, then a hundred, and then a thousand, until not a single fragment of the foe remains. If their Power Armor is not enough to repel an enemy's attack then it is to be reinforced. If the armor still is laid asunder then it is reinforced again, and again, until the blade which would cut it lays broken instead.

Tactical supremacy. Strategic forethought. Logistical mastery. All three are as integral to the Iron Empire's survival as their constant mechanical innovation inspired by their Primarch Perturabo's own. With nowhere to go should they fail in defending their world they dig their heels in and fight to the bitter end, refusing to die knowing that if they fall then so too will their enduring dream of utopia.

It is through tenacity and determination that they hold those who would threaten their fledgling empire at bay, bringing their full strength to bare at any who trespass. To fight with anything less would be to be trampled upon, and so each Astartes lays down their lives alongside their mortal servants to make taking their world too costly for what would be gained by doing so.

Iron Within, Iron Without, the Iron Empire endures as a bastion to the long forgotten principles of the 4th Legion and its once unyielding spirit.

**VETERANS OF THE FOURTH**

In the Great Crusade few Legions saw as little glory as the Iron Warriors, but they did still achieve victories where no other Legion would dare even do battle. It was thanks to their stalwart nature and grim determination that they could march into near certain death to achieve victory at any cost: if not for their near constant replenishment of Astartes from their world of Olympia the Iron Warriors would have rapidly had their ranks depleted by the grueling campaigns they were tasked with.

Upon Perturabo's discovery by the Emperor of Mankind he was reunited with his Legion, but this event would inflict a deep wound upon their ranks: dissatisfied with their performance and inflexible ways Perturabo would order his Astartes to undergo a decimation. One in ten of their ranks as determined by lottery was beaten to death by the other nine, and it was through this severe punishment that Perturabo established his brutal and unforgiving reign.

This tragedy would be the first of a myriad of causes that would lead to the foundation of the Iron Empire, for upon drawing the lot to be slain by his comrades the Astartes known as Trahaearn Jarn did not accept his fate and instead killed his the nine who were chosen to be his executioners. To him accepting death would be to surrender, and he was not one to yield: if he was to be sent to his death of the battlefield he would do his duty and fulfill his purpose, but to perish at the hands of his comrades for no greater purpose in his eyes was a waste.

Despite barely surviving the ordeal Jarn would remain loyal to and even respect his Primarch, perceiving the Decimation as a test which he had passed and those who perished had failed. Even so it would make him wary of needlessly throwing away the lives of his own men in battle, something which he had been growing more averse to already during the Great Crusade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: For some time now I have desired for the Iron Warriors to be able to play on the tabletop like they wage war in their stories, wielding massive amounts of heavy weaponry and laying siege with hundreds if not thousands of artillery vehicles. Unfortunately for them they have not been able to do this for several editions, and they until recently had to field Renegades and Heretics allies to even have a Basilisk...something they no longer can do in most games since Renegades and Heretics have been removed from the main game.**
> 
> **This project is going to be a mixture of things, but primarily will be the story of Iron Warriors who have not yielded to Chaos and so instead of possessing Daemon Engines use Basilisks and other such artillery to wage war. I intend to write this like a full codex, but with a greater emphasis on story. Later entries of course will have datasheets and the like, but before we reach the mechanics we first must delve into the lore! I have never done something quite like this before, but I hope you enjoy it regardless, and I dedicate this first update to my friend Ladok Tibers who has helped me develop the concept and lore for this project for quite some time.**
> 
> **I have provided the text both in image form and as plain text so you may read it as you prefer.**


	2. "Tristan Bertrand"

  
  
  
  
  
**TRISTAN BERTRAND**  
  
Word Bearers turned and fled in horror at the sight of a Daemon Prince falling before them at the hands of a 'Primarch', all uncertain if this was truly the primogenitor of the Iron Warriors who had waded through their numbers alone or if some other force of nature had been visited upon them. The sight of the Logos was unmistakable for the veterans among their ranks who had been fighting the Long War since its beginning, and just as the appearance of Abaddon so closely resembled the Primarch Horus so did Jarn resemble his own forebearer.  
  
For an average Heretic Astartes witnessing what appeared to be a living legend tear a Daemon Prince limb from limb before brutally beating their material form out of existence was a sure sign to retreat and fight another battle, even if the circumstances were not quite what they appeared. Jarn had interrupted the Daemon Prince's summoning right before its completion, leaving it weakened compared to what it may have been, and despite what they believed he was truly just an Astartes albeit one whose strength and drive had allowed him to corral his own Warband of Iron Warriors.  
  
With the remainder of the Word Bearers fleeing from the medieval town he found himself in Jarn was left to himself amidst the wreckage: he had descended from the nearby mountain which possessed the temple he slew the Dark Apostle within and engaged the Word Bearers here to satiate his need to repay the deaths of his comrades and make this deployment worthwhile. Now that he was no longer shifting from one fight to another he could see the bodies of not just his defeated foes but also of their own victims with corpses of innocent townspeople and traitorous Chaos Cultists alike littering the streets.  
  
To their credit Jarn noticed that this was not a singular battle but rather evidence of weeks of conflict which only escalated upon the Word Bearers' arrival, as some of the bodies seemed to have fallen close to a month ago if their state of decay was a reliable measurement. The last of those resisting their Chaos-warped brethren had been those being sacrificed as a part of the ritual summoning the Daemon Prince to the material realm, and Jarn paid them a moment of respect for fighting to the death rather than join with those of the Ruinous Powers.  
  
Elsewhere Jarn's forces were engaged with the Word Bearers on various battlefronts, but with very few wounded and no actual losses Jarn was content to let his forces finish mopping up the Word Bearers they were engaged with before returning to the fleet. While they possessed the upper hand now it would not last forever given the entire planet was infested with Word Bearers and there was but a few thousand Iron Warriors present.  
  
They had accomplished their primary objectives even if they had been too late to save Luther's followers on this world which reminded Jarn of the lost Caliban, so everything from this point was just venting leftover spite his men possessed from the years they spent lost in Warp travel assailed by Daemons and their ilk as their Gellar fields wavered. Like he indulged his own desire for revenge so too would he allow his men to exhaust their spite for now, knowing that their officers would reel them in when the time came to leave once the world's resources were extracted.  
  
None of the buildings of this place held a candle to those of Olympia, or even to those of Kimara, but Jarn found himself captivated by them all the same as he made his way through the ruins of the town. The architecture was of another era entirely than what he could typically witness on a modern world, and the builder in him found beauty in it even if he knew ways to structurally improve what he was seeing.  
  
Truth be told, like his Primarch before him Jarn had always enjoyed constructing fortresses and monuments of his own more than he did tearing them down, the same drive which saw him create the armor he now wore. He had witnessed Perturabo in the flesh see a device for the first time only to intrinsically figure it out and be able to recreate it, fully understanding it, and it was that same spirit which Jarn had tried to live up to all of these years. It was evident by looking at his surroundings that these people were but a few years from making major technological strides, but while they were stuck wielding naught but swords and spears they had the misfortune of drawing the attention of the Word Bearers.  
  
'It is a shame that this world would be besieged by followers of the Dark Gods right as it lay on the cusp of technology,' he thought.  
  
Jarn planted a foot down on the skull of a Possessed member of the Word Bearers who he had cut down earlier, only to just then realize with a 'clank' against his back that he had deployed the Servo Arms he built into the Logos Secundus in order to overpower the Daemon Prince. It was so second nature to him by now that he hadn't even thought of the action, he simply did it to bolster himself during their power struggle before then tearing the creature's arms off before their followers.  
  
Retracting the arms to fold against his back took but a moment, but it gave him a moment to realize that one building nearby him differed from the others severely. While they were almost all at a level of technology primitive to him, this one possessed a mass of metal forged around various sections of it like a secured bunker. By modern standards it was still incredibly antiquated, and it was roughly made, but it caught the Warsmith's attention all the same for whereas the other buildings had the blood of innocents splattered across their broken or burned husks this one had not seemingly been breached.  
  
Curiosity piqued, Jarn approached it so as to get a better look at the peculiar building that was such an oddity compared to those nearby it. While not a living soul existed in the rest of the now barren town, perhaps someone still lived within: someone who may possess answers about what happened, and may even know about the Fallen who had come to live near them.  
  
A giant slab of metal covered what once was the entrance to the facility, and from the general construction of it all Jarn surmised that this was the local blacksmith's forge: no wonder then that they were able to create some degree of defenses to wall off those who raided them. It would have been easy for a Word Bearer to tear down the metal here and elsewhere around the location, but they were too caught up in slaughtering the prey elsewhere that this place seemingly was left as-is for the time being...Jarn killing and scattering their members had inadvertently spared whomever remained within these walls of the same fate which befell those outside of them.  
  
With one hand Jarn ripped the metal slab off the forge and tossed it aside, taking a small degree effort to make sure it crushed a fallen Cultist's body in the process. He had not bothered to use his suit's scanners since he rightfully did not perceive anything which lay within as a threat, but that did not mean there was no surprise to be found when the forge was forcibly opened.  
  
The very next moment Jarn felt a powerful impact against the front of his armor, not so strong as to actually cause it any harm but enough that he recognized what he was now looking at even before his eyes registered the sight of it.  
  
Some local just fired an _autocannon_ at him. An autocannon as primitive and weak as one could expect of a world still burdened by swords as a primary weapon, but an autocannon all the same.  
  
Jarn found himself actually smiling as he stepped through the smoke left after the weapon's firing, having to bow down briefly to enter before rising to his full height in the forge's spacious interior.  
  
"A noble, if futile, effort," he spoke in as humorous a tone as the Warsmith could manage.  
  
Before him he could see tools for metalworking strewn about, many half-broken and those still functional barely so after having been used relentlessly by the forge's inhabitant...a mortal Jarn was intrigued to find was naught but a young boy. The child was trying to get their makeshift cannon to fire again, refusing to let their intruder take them without a fight, but rather than have the boy possibly bring harm to himself Jarn bent the contraption's barrel such that it could no longer be used as a weapon.  
  
That only inspired the child to grab a nearby spear, one of many crafted by the town's blacksmith no doubt, only for the boy to trip and fall as he did so: it was apparent that Jarn's earlier observation that this conflict had been going on for weeks was true, as it appeared the boy had not eaten in quite some time. Malnourished, his ribs were visible within his shirt and it was obvious that he had not left this place for anything at all since the beginning. Without more modern food preservation systems he had likely been left to live off of what little they could store within the home built off of the forge...however rather than idly sit and wait for the end the boy had created a crude mimicry of a weapon the invaders possessed.  
  
Rather than let the starved child flail about on the ground Jarn did him the favor of picking him back up and planting him on his own two feet, in the process knocking over from a table some basic tools forged to help lift and place the metal outside. The boy offered a brief struggle, but stopped when he realized that he was not being harmed but rather helped: this in turn brought a light of curiosity to the child's eyes, as he had yet to figure out what the giant before him desired and it seemingly was not his imminent demise.  
  
"Tell me child, who crafted this weapon? Was it the same one who barricaded this facility?"  
  
The response was slightly hoarse, but that did not detract from how blunt it was from the boy who now was staring up at Jarn with suspicion.  
  
"I did."  
  
Jarn nodded, having surmised as much given that he could not hear another living being within the rest of this forge's innards: it was possible that before perishing whomever was the child's caretaker had helped design the weapon, and the boy finished it. While a farcry from the genius of Perturabo, Jarn recognized the skill it would take for one so young to accomplish such a feat on such a backwards world.  
  
 _'It would seem that this world had something else to offer us.'_  
  
To appear less threatening Jarn bent down onto one knee even if he still towered massively over the mortal, "Your parents aided you, no doubt. Still, for one your age it is still an impressive feat."  
  
Those words prompted the child to look down at the ground, whatever curiosity he held a moment ago lost as other emotions flooded him.  
  
"They're dead. Been for days...maybe weeks...I saw one and tried to make it."  
  
 _That_ was a surprise, and Jarn actually found himself speechless for a moment as he came to the obvious implication: this boy born on a world without even the most basic of firearms had managed to create the most rudimentary of autocannons.  
  
Eons ago Forrix had recruited him to the Iron Warriors after a display of Jarn's ingenuity and leadership even at the age of thirteen, and Jarn did not doubt that how Forrix felt then was similar to how he felt now. Other Astartes were recruited for displaying immense physical might or skill while still ten Terran years old, so why not recruit a promising young mind instead? If the Iron Warriors were to continue forward they would need more than brawn, and Jarn had no doubt that this particular boy would always lack it: he looked to be wiry even before his starvation but a mind which reminded him of Perturabo's own, even if not of the same caliber, was worth recruiting all the same.  
  
As gently as he could Jarn touched the child's shoulder, afraid he would crush him given the boy's physical status and Jarn's own might, "I am not going to bring you harm, so tell me: who was it that took their lives?"  
  
The boy took a moment to respond, as if traumatized by what he had experienced until now given how his eyes still lingered down towards the floor, "Ones like you. Red armor. The ones possessed by the Beasts."  
  
Jarn had surmised as much, and felt a degree of satisfaction at having killed the Possessed first among those he fought here. Those who relied on the power of the Warp were worthy of the scorn he felt, a hatred he sensed now was shared by this innocent boy whose family was taken from him.  
  
"They are not like us, for we are far more,” the Warsmith spoke confidently before standing up, prompting the boy's eyes to lift up to follow the rising height of the Astartes before him. Until now he had only seen these titanic beings as enemies, but Jarn was surprising him just as he had done in return.  
  
Jarn turned so he could point out of the forge and towards the mountains of dead outside, many of the Cultists there slain by Jarn personally and all of their Astartes masters cut down by him as well. Just as he had taught Levente, so too now would he impart an important lesson to this child he sought to take under his wing.  
  
“Only the weak who are otherwise unable to accomplish their goals must rely on the strength of Daemons, 'Beasts' as you call them. For my warriors it is the iron of our spirit and the iron in our hands that will see our goals made manifest."  
  
With the same might he demonstrated before Jarn bent the autocannon's barrel back so that it could fire once again, doing his best to impress rather than intimidate the young boy before him.  
  
"You built this weapon to use against those foul Beasts and their followers, yes? None of them are as stalwart as me, but even so you would only likely slay one or two before they would swarm you with their rabble...depending on their particular worship they would either cut you down or carry you off as some sacrifice."  
  
Despite this statement of fact it did not dissuade the child whose eyes were as possessed of cold fury as the Word Bearers had been of the Warp's energies. It was an odd sight in one so young, but seeing every single person you know be slaughtered like animals by beings no better than animals themselves could do that to someone.  
  
”So long as they die too.”  
  
That would be a waste, and so Jarn scolded the boy for being so eager to die fighting even if it was against a worthy foe.  
  
”Do not be so eager to throw your life away, for every life has its worth. That is why while some may need be spent to achieve victory, it is a sin to sacrifice it without greater purpose. Death in service of your Emperor, of your brethren, or of utopia, it matters not so long as one fights for what they believe in.”  
  
Jarn lowered a hand down to the boy, as if to symbolically offer it to him as he continued speaking.  
  
"If you come with me I will teach you how to cut down scores of the wretched filth who have laid siege to this world. To lay them asunder with your own strength of mind, body, and will...”  
  
Shifting the hand he offered, Jarn brought it to once again gesture to the death and destruction which lay beyond the broken barricade of the forge.  
  
”Or I can leave you here to your fate. Leave you to die for nothing greater than your own despair and anger, no better than an animal like the 'Beasts' you hate.”  
  
While Jarn was impressed by the boy's mind, if he was too foolish to choose the superior method of enacting revenge against those who harmed his people and family then Jarn had no regrets about leaving him behind. Someone who would throw their own life away for nothing would throw away the lives of those under their command just as easily, and he had no place for such a mindset in his ranks.  
  
Once again offering his hand, Jarn gave him the chance to take it this time if the child so wished, ”It is your choice, Boy...will you die killing one or two of those who murdered your family, or will you one day fall in battle as a true warrior having slain millions of them?"  
  
"Tristan."  
  
Having expected a nod or shake of the head no from the terse child, the statement of a name actually surprised Jarn.  
  
"What?"  
  
Weakly the boy knelt down on one knee just as Jarn had previously, having to fight to not collapse as he did so but powering through all the same so that he could maintain his own pride, "Tristan of House Bertrand, son of Sir Markus the Blacksmith."  
  
Jarn gestured for him to rise, and so Tristan did while also placing a palm upon Jarn's outstretched gauntlet offered to him.  
  
"And I am Trahaearn Jarn, Warsmith of the Iron Warriors. Pledge your fealty to me and I shall grant you your revenge, Tristan Bertrand, and see to it that a mind of your caliber is not wasted upon a dying world such as this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I appreciate the support many of you have already lent to this project, and I hope you will continue to enjoy it as I post the remaining segments of its full introduction. This is the follow up to the first story segment, and the next post will continue from the initial post's background information.**


	3. Foundation of the Iron Empire

**FOUNDATION OF THE IRON WARRIORS**

The Fourth Legion had its first members recruited from the gun-tribes upon Terra and prove themselves during the Unification Wars. Their domain would be a stalwart bastion for the Emperor of Mankind and establish early on their propensity for siegecraft be it defending a fortress or assailing one. Their Gene Seed was above average in its adaptability and was not adverse to Bionics, allowing for the Iron Warriors to enter the Great Crusade as one of the most numerous Astartes Legions.

Early in the Great Crusade the Iron Warriors would distinguish themselves during the conquest of the Sol System, in the process earning the privilege of having first access to new technologies and equipment from Mars. Despite their early successes the inflexible doctrines of the Iron Warriors would prove detrimental as the Crusade expanded and called for new approaches, with the Astartes of the Fourth Legion continuing to use siege and attrition warfare to solve whatever conflict they came across. This was in part due to the stubborn nature of the Iron Warriors, but also due to what others criticized as a lack of imagination including the Primarch Horus himself.

Despite, or rather because of, their rigid nature they would receive praise from Horus as that very stubbornness made them naturally suited for the times the Great Crusade did require dull but important wars of attrition. Where other Legions could falter in time or act rashly beyond the orders given the Iron Warriors instead would do as told and through tenacity overcome the obstacles placed before them, finding victory through outlasting their foes rather than through quick decapitation strikes or through the usage of other rapid deployments favored by other legions such as the Luna Wolves.

**IN A COLD, FAR AWAY WORLD**

Seemingly for this same reason the Fourth Legion would have its forces spread out and garrisoned on many worlds, as well as engaging in smaller and more local campaigns as called for, for they could be relied upon to do such thankless tasks. One such campaign was for the frigid wasteland of Kimara, a planet sparsely populated by pockets of humanity who settled there to obtain its valuable natural resources. Unlike other worlds Kimara did not need to be subjugated when encountered by the members of the Great Crusade, instead willingly joining with the Imperium when given the opportunity on the condition of receiving their aid in repelling various threats to their people.

This request was made due to how vulnerable the citizens of Kimara were to raiders from other worlds given the planet's low population size and the constant threat its local wildlife posed by it vicious leviathan creatures or be it aerial predators whose packs could tear apart trained militia like they were as soft as the snow falling upon the landscape. Both Xenos and Human raiders regularly pilfered Kimara, presenting a common nuisance that threatened to deprive its people of what little they had. The cold of Kimara was relentless and unforgiving, being lethal to even Astartes given time, so it was far easier for pirates to obtain the planet's resources by killing those who mined and processed them in the first place.

Kimara's government was largely feudal, resembling the kind of society once possessed by humanity in the Medieval era as it served their needs best: allowing various territories to self-govern let them react better to the individual threats they faced, while for larger problems the planet's ruler could rally his subjects from wherever needed to combat it. With no room for dissention or particular selfishness in the early years of Kimara's settlement its people would become known for possessing personalities as cold as their world, doing what they were told and rarely interacting with those outside their immediate social or work spheres. Even their skin was remarked upon as being a reflection of the world, being as pale as the outside snow thanks to how little natural sunlight they could receive without dying immediately from the climate.

If they were more individualistic it could cause conflict, which in turn could threaten the lives of all who lived in their particular cities lest it damage their carefully maintained environments within the cities, so it is perhaps this reason that they would find common cause with the Iron Warriors: both were known for icy behavior towards others while still being stubborn, driven, and relentless to a fault even in the face of extreme adversity or suffering. They would do what they were told even if it was thankless and would require sacrifice on their part, and so once united the forces of Kimara formed a seamless machine with the Iron Warriors sent to aid them.

Living inside and almost never being exposed to greater society caused the archetypal traits of Kimara traits to grow in its population over time, and it made them natural counterparts to the inhabitants of a nearby planet of Wostyn which was completely covered in desert just as Kimara was in snow and ice. While Wostyn itself was merely on poor terms with Kimara, pirates hailing from it would become the bulk of those raiding Kimara since it was an easier way of life than living off what little their home planet possessed.

**ONLY THE STRONG WILL SURVIVE**

When the first Iron Warriors were stationed on Kimara under the command of Kydomor Forrix it was at the peak of the planet's pilfering by outsiders. Rather than try to chase down

the raiders whose swiftness was their primary strength the Iron Warriors saw fit to reinforce the cities, assign guards to their convoys, and to wait for the Wostyn pirates to come to them: in time the pirates would have their numbers all but eradicated, unable to wound the Astartes now guarding Kimara, and so Kimara's people were freed from their primary threat and the Iron Warriors hailed as heroes. While unused to actually receiving gratitude the Iron Warriors accepted it gracefully from the soldiers they fought alongside and civilians they protected.

This was not the end to their troubles however, as Kimara had erected its fortress cities for more than refuge from the cold: they were in fact primarily there to help protect them from the planet's deadly predators. Serpent-like beasts larger than a Baneblade regularly threatened their settlements, these Yormungaros as they were known laying waste to all in their path and sparing none during their vicious rampages. Then there were the Hoarfrosts, winged monsters which hid amidst the cloudy skies before swooping down to attack their prey with their freezing breath and sharp claws. Lastly, the seas were

plagued by what few survivors would describe as 'Krakens', giant squid-like beings so massive they dwarfed the Yormungaros and who posed a threat to shipments moving from one region to another.

The skies of Kimara were too dangerous to travel due to their predators, vicious winds, and unrelenting storms. The seas ravaged by creatures few lived to tell about after first surviving the gargantuan waves. Even the land was hampered by constant snowfall and merciless monsters it would make one wonder why Humans would want to settle on such a world at all: the answer to that was a rare resource by the name of Mithril. It had been located on other planets previously, but never in any significant quantities until the point where it was thought gone by the Imperium...until Kimara's first settlers rediscovered it and used it to then survive on the unforgiving world.

**THE PEARL OF KIMARA**

Mithril, a silver-blue metal, drew its value from its ability to be used for a myriad of purposes, the most notable and common of which being as armor: while its qualities allowed for it to be forged into weapons superior to their normal counterparts, the ability of Mithril to shrug off most forms of damage made it not only hard to mine but also extremely effective at ensuring the survival of whomever wore it in battle. Its natural resistance to both heat and the cold allowed it to be used for soldiers to be deployed on Kimara itself, and many of their elite officers wore it for missions out into the cold wastes of the planet where seemingly nothing but snow and ice awaited them.

The many positive aspects of Mithril were weighed against various negatives: the metal required to fashion a suit of armor was heavy enough that if worn by an Astartes even they would have their movement significantly reduced, and it took special training for a normal Human to wear it without having to take breaks to rest from its weight. In addition the same aspects of Mithril which made it difficult to damage in battle as well as resistant to both cold and heat made actually turning it into armor a time-intensive process that was simply not practical to the needs of the rapidly expanding Great Crusade at the time. Lastly, due to the nature of the planet itself, Mithril was hard to come by and Kimara did not yet possess enough industry to excavate it in a quantity great enough to fashion thousands of Astartes like Forrix had at one point hoped to.

Rather than continue pressing on with the Great Crusade Forrix instead invested some of the resources afforded to him on building up Kimara's own infrastructure, allowing the natives to fend for themselves better once their cities were protected by an array of Basilisks and Hydras to fend off their predators. To assist construction, units of Iron Warriors would proactively cull many of the bestial threats over the course of the months it took to build up the local defenses and military. During these outings Forrix would come to be impressed by a young local by the name of Trahaearn Jarn, who despite his age was assigned by the local military forces to guide the Iron Warriors to the dens of various beasts so the monsters could be slain as they slept to reduce allied casualties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Games Workshop used to sell a paint titled Mithril Silver, but it has been replaced (likely for copyright reasons) with "Runefang Steel". Since this codex is dedicated to bringing back a lot of things sort of abandoned or ignored by GW, I figured the valuable resource ought to be another such thing. I based its color in this universe off of GW's silver mixed with Runescape's blue Mithril, so it's a sort of grey-blue which I have used for this Authors Note as a demonstration.**
> 
> **This information will serve as the background fluff that one usually sees in a fluffy codex prior to it discussing battles and more recent history, though we are not quite done yet with the background since I am trying to be thorough.**
> 
> **This codex is a work in progress, so I hope you are enjoying it and will let me know your thoughts below!**


	4. "The Eisernen"

**THE EISERNEN**

_"The brutal, unforgiving nature of this world speaks to me...it feels as if it is home without being so. Even in such conditions one can find an inherent beauty to the way of things."_

_"Your words humble me, my Lord. Kimara is naught but frozen tundra...but maybe someday it can be truly worthy of your sentiment."_

_"Under the Imperium this world may yet prosper, but it is with the Iron Warriors that your potential belongs. Join us in conquering the stars, and one day you may possess the strength and mind to bring it to heel. It would not possess its natural splendor if not for its brutality, but that does not mean you cannot one day conquer it for the good of your people and use this world's very nature against your foes."_

_"Pledge your fealty to our cause, to Humanity's Great Crusade under His Majesty the Emperor of Mankind, and I promise you utopia, Trahaearn Jarn."_

_"My people owe you our very lives. From this day until my last I shall fight in service of your Legion, Captain Forrix."_

Dead promises. A pact broken eons ago upon the blood-soaked soil of Olympia. Forrix had been one of the most accomplished of the Iron Warriors during the Great Crusade, but as time went on his determination would fade and give way to apathy born of disillusionment in their Legion. Jarn, his student, would undergo a different transformation in that time however.

While once content to do as he was told, be it brutal sieges or 'inglorious' work such as garrisoning the world he hailed from, Jarn's own disillusionment with the path of the Iron Warriors saw him rise to action. The fall of Olympia had been the nail in the coffin, an event which broke the once unbreakable Fourth Legion's spirit.

It was the last time Jarn had spoken to his mentor, Forrix, who had placed Jarn in charge of dealing with some of the Iron Warriors who refused to carry out Perturabo's orders to ravage the world. Forrix had made certain that many dissenters were taken care of to keep their Legion from breaking apart, but it was Jarn's belief that the Warsmith of the First Company chose him to rally those with doubts behind a common purpose.

He harnessed their disgruntled natures and forged a Company of his own from those unable to return to the commanders they had refused orders from, even seeking out Perturabo's blessing after the conflict to have these Astartes deployed away from the main fleet so that the Legion would be spared internal conflict. While their Primarch had said nothing at the time, he had given a nod and given Jarn leave to take what ships were needed to see that their forces did not descend into mutiny.

While those who carried out Perturabo's orders vastly outnumbered those who refused them, Perturabo had possessed a solemn nature after Olympia's destruction and it may have been his regrets which saw him allow for some three thousand Astartes to depart from his forces under the promise they would remain loyal to the Iron Warriors. The few thousand able to be rallied by Jarn would have been executed for their actions anyways, so either way they would be a loss to the Legion: this way at least would see them as nominal allies in the battles to come.

The Imperium had pushed the Iron Warriors to the breaking point which the rebellion upon their homeworld would then push past the point of no return, and for that Jarn had grown sour towards the government he once served. He understood the bitter rage of his fellow soldiers, and sought to channel it into a more productive end: if the Imperium would waste their lives and cast them aside then they would not be sacrificed for their ilk. That did not mean surrendering their autonomy for even harsher masters via Chaos however, and so throughout the Horus Heresy Jarn would lay siege to strategic worlds that would benefit the Fourth Legion while instituting harsh scrutiny towards his followers to prevent Chaos worship.

"Iron Within, Iron Without!"

Rows of Iron Warriors greeted the Warsmith as Jarn exited his shuttle and stepped aboard his personal ship the _Eisernen_ , one of the ten Battleships which comprised his Warband and the mightiest among them. A Victory Class Battleship, the _Eisernen_ led his fleet's movements with its reinforced armor and frightening arsenal: its lance weapon systems were so numerous that its crew have likened its functionality to that of a space-faring Basilisk artillery company. While lacking in weapon variety the iron-colored fortress of a ship was capable of inflicting severe damage at such a range that its foes would quickly learn to keep clear of it or be wiped from existence in mere moments.

Trahaearn nodded to the soldiers present in a way which had come to mean his dismissing them, as the Warsmith was not one for needless formality even though his men insisted on granting it out of respect to him. Of the few who lingered behind to still speak with him he decided to address the closest first out of convenience, but also curiosity as he looked to Urkamus nearby in the landing bay.

"I trust that Levente did his part today."

"You would be proud. The Neophyte held his own."

The veteran's gruff way of saying it made Jarn curious, as while his own soft spot for his forces was well known he desired an accurate and blunt perspective separate from his own: that was why he had left Levente in the care of Urkamus.

"And your approximation?"

"You were right about his combat potential, but one his age still has much to learn lest aggressiveness give way to recklessness."

For someone as resigned and nihilistic as Urkamus to grant praise at all was a good sign that Jarn was not wrong about Levente's potential when they recruited the young boy a few years prior. Not many children possessed the strength or willpower to drive a Power Sword through an Astartes, but that was exactly what Levente had done when they visited his world to take its resources. While the wound had not even left a lasting injury to the Astartes Levente had assaulted, it had been enough to impress Jarn who once upon a time was also a particularly large child whose physical prowess helped him earn the favor of the Iron Warriors.

"My thanks for looking after his well-being. I will see about arranging for the War Hounds to hone his talents, for I do not wish for my pupil to walk the path of Kroeger."

While Jarn had no idea what had become of Kroeger, just as he was unaware of what the present status of Forrix was, he had enough intuition to know that the former's unrelenting bloodlust and the other's growing apathy would lead them to the path of ruin. Rather than follow them, Jarn sought to establish a trail ahead of his own making.

Perhaps it was nothing but an idle dream, but Jarn felt that if he could properly train a new generation of Iron Warriors with his own ideals, with new members such as Levente and now Tristan among them, that their Legion could be saved from damnation.

After speaking with Urkamus came a conversation with Levente himself, who had lingered to speak with the Warsmith as they typically did whenever there was some form of progress in the Neophyte's training.

"Levente. Urkamus tells me you honored the Legion today with your efforts."

The fledgling Astartes bowed out of respect, though not before shooting a curios glance at the figure of a collapsed and starved boy held against Jarn's armor gently.

"I merely did what I could to be useful, Warsmith. My accomplishments are nothing compared to your own: even at a distance I saw your defeat of a Daemon Prince and his followers."

Levente's body was still growing alongside his Gene Seed implants, but it was obvious to any who saw him that the young man would be a fine warrior come his growth's completion. Whereas Jarn himself had always been tall and quite broad, much like Perturabo himself, Levente's body type was more akin to a solid brick of muscle. Like the way some Salamanders could possess incredible physical might far in excess of that of a typical Astartes, Jarn expected Levente to one day eclipse his own strength which when paired with quick reflexes and boundless courage made him an ideal candidate to become the Iron Legion's 'Champion' some day.

It might take decades, or even a century, but one day Levente would crush his foes with the same ferocity the Iron Warriors would once demonstrate upon the brutal end of a siege. The boy could be stubborn, like many of their Legion, but as he stood here before Jarn none of that arrogance was noticeable: instead he was humbled and in awe of the Warsmith whom he owed his very life to.

"All things in time. One day it shall be you who possesses the might of our Primarch, but remember that today those slain were the weakest of the Legions: the Word Bearers may be the most charismatic of our distant kin, but they lack the resilience of our Legion, the grace of the Emperor's Children, or the discipline of the Dark Angels. Keep that in mind so you do not falsely equivocate them with future foes."

"Understood, Warsmith. All shall fall to the Iron Legion!"

Last among those who lingered was an Astartes wearing MK-III armor armor much like many other members of the Iron Legion, but his differed in two notable ways: it was pitch black with silver and red as highlights, and its helmet was shaped so as to evoke the imagery of a knight. Once a member of the First Legion, the Dark Angels, this Astartes was a remnant of the conflict which tore his Legion apart thanks to the manipulations of Chaos. Like Jarn he had no love for the Ruinous Powers, and so he and other members of the 'Fallen' who called themselves the Defenders of Caliban had joined under the Iron Legion.

"Praetor, I wish I possessed better news for you, but by the time of our arrival your brothers were overcome," Jarn offered to the man who once would have been an equal to him, but now served him dutifully given their shared cause through dedication to their once great but now shattered Legions.

Castiel, former Praetor of the Dark Angels, clasped the taller Astartes on the shoulder in a way reminiscent of an old friend, "So I have been told. There was nothing you could have done, Warsmith, so know I hold no grudge. It is by your grace that we came to this world at all, and for that you have my gratitude and that of all of the Defenders of Caliban."

When Asier had acquired information reporting the presence of possible Fallen Angels upon this world whose name was lost to even the Imperium it was a moment of celebration for the scarce few Fallen within Jarn's forces, and the shared brotherhood between these Renegades saw Jarn attempt to reunite them with their kin while also using it as an opportunity to acquire supplies to fuel his own ambitions.

Jarn nodded as he returned the gesture awkwardly, never having been an expert in personal relationships nor having had much practice after his ascension to leading this Warband given that so many treated him as a substitute for their lost Primarch, "We are all 'Fallen' in one way or another, so it is only right that we stand together against all who would see us slain for circumstances outside of our control. To stand divided we would surely fall, but in unity we can seize what opportunities lay before us."

Given their proximity now Castiel's attention was drawn to the young, sickly child held in Jarn's other arm, "It would seem you have taken in another stray. "

With Castiel being one such 'stray' taken in, Jarn felt that he could explain himself easily to the Praetor and also bring up a subject which had been on his mind since he met the child, "His mind was wasted on a world such as this. Given his proximity to your brethren I did wish to ask for your blessing to take him as my apprentice, Castiel."

With a gaunt appearance and long, jet-black hair it reminded the former Dark Angel of a man he once knew, but it was superficial at best and the Praetor could sense that Jarn was serious about mentoring the boy. Ever since his arrival Jarn's body language had been protective of the unconscious child who seemed to have not had much food or rest in some time, and while possessing a new recruit to their ranks would always be welcome to his few men Castiel knew better than to try and recruit this particular one.

"I am reminded faintly of Luther's own appearance when he was a younger man, but I have no need to take from you your own discovery. The artifacts and information acquired today has satiated us all, and I would not wish to appear so greedy as to pilfer your recruit for our own ends."

"Very well. Should the opportunity arise know that I will find more of your kin: so long as they swear their allegiance to my forces and oppose Chaos I will take any under my banner."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When Tristan awoke it was in an unfamiliar environment, his eyes flickering a few times as he tried to fully open them and become aware of his surroundings. He was on something soft, but it was hard to make out what it was given the dim lighting of the room. What little light there was happened to be across the room by a metal desk and work-bench where a massive man sat, quietly working as Tristan came more to his senses.

While their face was obscured from his view, Tristan felt that this giant man must be the one he met before...his tired mind had trouble recalling their name instantly, but he did not feel in danger even if he was somewhere new now.

That was until something appeared right beside the bed he lay upon, with Tristan only recognizing what he was on when he scrambled to try and move away from this new creature only to fall instead. The metal floor greeting him was unpleasant, but his body did not feel as weak as it had when he collapsed: he did not know how but something had been done to help with his starvation.

Now on the floor right beside what had appeared beside him, Tristan noticed that the creature was not at all human: it appeared instead like a salamander he would sometimes encounter of his own world. Only, this one was bipedal, as tall as him, and was holding in its front...legs? Arms? Arms. In its front arms was a block of metal, and while the creature seemed to be smiling happily and its eyes were soft its sudden appearance was still enough to frighten the young boy.

"Do not mind Arien. He will bring you no harm."

Tristan recognized Jarn's voice, and with it much of their prior conversation...and thanks to his trust in the man he was able to settle down and observe the animal before him in greater detail. Its skin was soft and a pale blue, being cold to the touch but not overly so. It possessed a large tail about a third of the creature's height behind it, and short legs to the point they were near nonexistent between its body and feet.

As far as Tristan was concerned this was a very _odd_ creature, but it seemed harmless. In fact it didn't even mind him poking it, and Tristan was left to wonder why such a massive warrior of such strength would keep the company of a being such as this.

To explain its presence Jarn spoke again, turning in his seat to better look at it and Tristan's interactions, "He is a useful creature from my homeworld. He helps me in my work, and has for centuries now."

While Jarn spoke his pet, 'Arien' being its name, seemed to offer the metal bar meant for smelting to Tristan. Uncertain why he was being handed something by the mute animal, Tristan still accepted it out of curiosity. His mind was too exhausted to contemplate things deeply from weeks of possessing almost no sleep, so he decided to just go with the flow. He could leave figuring out this new environment and situation for later.

"What am I to do with this?"

Jarn turned back to what he was working on, his voice blunt as he spoke, "Nothing. Ixolotls enjoy lustrous materials, and they enjoy imparting such items upon others. This makes them a fine companion for locating mineral veins, but less so in a city where they are unwitting thieves of jewelry. Their minds are simple and innocent, if they know something belongs to another they will not take it. However they do as they are told: Arien, wrench four."

The Ixolotl snapped to action immediately, not being the most agile of creatures but smart enough to rustle through a drawer of tools to bring the exact one asked for. Tristan still had many questions, but he kept them to himself...though perhaps some of them were quite obvious, as Jarn would address them moments later as Tristan drew closer to him in an attempt to see what the man was working on.

"We are aboard my personal ship, the _Eisernen_. Aboard are other Astartes, beings such as myself, who belong to my Iron Legion. At the present time we possess one thousand Astartes capable of active duty, and two thousand in supporting roles given their injuries or as of yet incomplete training. Your world has been brought to ruin by those 'Beasts' you so detest, lost like countless before it to the Ruinous Powers of Chaos. Right now my vessel, the metal behemoth we are traveling within, shall take us to a new world where my forces can consolidate our recent boons and regroup."

Tristan nodded along, not understanding all of what was being said such as what the type of ship he was on was, but comprehending enough to follow along.

"For someone such as you there are countless things to learn of, and I do not expect you to pick up on them all at once: I do expect you to try as best as you are capable of however. Is that understood?"

Jarn took a moment to gesture to the mechanical device he was working on upon his desk using the tool brought to him by Arien, who now sat by patiently awaiting another command. From what Tristan could see the device was similar to the ones upon the wrists of Jarn's armor that he had been wearing, which now gone revealed the man's own impressive physical stature. Ranged projectile throwers was what Tristan could intuit, but in the half-constructed state they were presently in he could not ascertain more.

"I could explain this to you, though at this point you would understand nothing even though we share a common language. Instead I shall work, and you shall watch, for while you may not know the words a mind such as yours may begin to understand the process and relations between these instruments."

Tristan nodded silently, content to obey this man to whom he owed his life, and when prompted took a seat beside him in a chair brought over by Arien upon another command being given.

"Until I deem you worthy of becoming a Neophyte you will accompany me everywhere but the battlefield. You will train your body, mind, and spirit, such that no foe shall break you. Right now you are weak and vulnerable, but in time you will stand as tall as any of my Astartes."

There was little doubt in Tristan's mind that it would be difficult, but the thought of what had happened to him, his family, and his village steeled him to the concept of suffering if it meant he could bring those to blame to justice. Being raised on a medieval world had left him with impressions of honor and duty which would become appreciated in time by the similarly dutiful Warsmith.

"When that day comes it will be you bringing ruin to worlds, not the 'Beasts' who ruined your own. You will bring them death, despair, and war unlike any they have known. Teach them that their hopes and pride have come to nothing. That their empty whispers shall fall upon deaf ears: that their gods are dead, for Human logic shall have killed them. We are the Angels of Death who have come to liberate them from life itself. You shall demonstrate that nothing can save them."

The speed at which Jarn worked was incredible, and by the time he finished the final sentence his wrist mounted gun had been re-assembled and repaired of damage it had sustained during the battle. Lifting it up, Jarn pointed it across his room towards a target he had placed by a far wall, and in the next moment Tristan found himself awed by the sight of the man-sized structure evaporating from the sudden gunfire.

This was a man worth learning from, and so he gathered what scraps of his consciousness he could to continue watching him work on various other devices.

"We are the Iron Warriors, and no matter how long it takes, no matter what we must endure, we shall be the ones who build a better world atop the bodies of all who stand in our way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: With the stage now set for them we may follow in the shoes of both Tristan Bertrand and Levente to experience their trials and conflicts in the 41st Millennium. Also minor glimpses at the fact that these Iron Warriors are working with minor remnants of other traitor Legions who share a distaste for Chaos: in this case some members of the Fallen and the 'War Hounds', which was the name of the World Eaters prior to Angron's discovery and subsequent corruption of the Legion.**
> 
> **There is one other major focal point character I have yet to introduce, but they will get their own section when the time comes. Right now the goal was to get the Iron Legion's members set up, so now that the stage is set I can tackle other areas as well.**
> 
> **I hope you have enjoyed, and that you will leave me your thoughts below!**


	5. "Isolde Kohlenstoff"

**ISOLDE KOHLENSTOFF**

The first time Isolde witnessed the death of another Human being was at the age of five, her ears ringing from the bolt pistol's discharge only some steps away. A man's brains were spread across the wall of the Schola's hallway, and within moments two others joined him as the bolt pistol's wielder turned it upon them without hesitation.

That day had been like many others at the Schola for Isolde, with nothing out of the ordinary until that very event which is perhaps why it would stand out all that much more to her in the years to come. Far be it from a typical learning institution, the Schola Progenium was one among an institution administered by the Imperium's Ecclesiarchy to raise the orphaned children of Imperial officials and servants.

The term for the students of these schools was Progena, and from a young age they would be inducted into a regimen of harsh discipline. From their first day of joining the Schola these Progena are taught about the God-Emperor whose existence they owe their lives to, and that he has no need for the weak or feeble, that pain was naught but the indication of an untrained mind. This belief was driven even deeper upon the harsh Death World that was Kimara, where the very planet itself was an obstacle to anything approaching comfort or safety.

From this point Progena would be further indoctrinated to the Imperial Creed through the usage of prayer, contemplation, fasting, and punitive correction as needed by their instructors known as Drill Abbots to forge minds of unrelenting purpose and unshakeable faith. For the Progena their education would undergo a set path beginning with literacy and the Imperial Creed, before being followed by history, politics, the contemplation of Imperial saints, rhetoric, and leadership skills as they progressed in age. Their physical attributes would also be strictly measured and trained as well, with Drill Abbots honing their endurance, strength, and skill with various weapon forms. From their earliest years to adulthood they would be trained tirelessly, and it was from this system that the Imperium's greatest servants would often be born.

Isolde was no different, even as the daughter of the Schola's Commandant. Some outsiders might question their relation given that the Commandant was never known to have had a relationship with a woman, so dedicated he was to his work and planet. Even still she had appeared in the Schola one day as a newborn infant with him claiming her as his kin, and none of his staff saw fit to ask anything else about the matter.

Despite her status Isolde was held to the same standard, if not a greater one, as all her peers thanks to the Commandant's ruthless nature and decree that she was to be treated as any other child. Not one of the Drill Abbots at the facility would dare cross him, and so each made certain to not be the one to be seen as granting her favor. Knowing no other way of life, this had little effect on Isolde, who simply lived among the other children.

Where a difference could be drawn however was that while other Progena were just beginning to become literate with Imperial Gothic and learning about the greater Imperium, Isolde was reading alongside her father for hours each night after his other duties were completed. It was not that the act of reading itself was something she was majestically gifted in, or that it was some great hobby of hers even if she did enjoy it, but she did it all the same because it was what was expected of her and making her father proud was something she was keen on doing from her first memories. She ate the same food, slept in the same beds, and underwent the same experience as her fellow members of the Schola and it was only in moments like this that she felt different from the orphans she was surrounded by.

The only notable difference that day was that it was not one of the many Drill Abbots or Abbesses reading to them stories about the God-Emperor of Mankind or his greatest heroes in the Schola's primary library, but rather the Commandant himself. While not a wholly unique occasion it only happened maybe once every few weeks, and so Isolde had been keenly listening to him as he read just as she had done her best to improve her reading skills prior to his arrival. Her mind was a sponge for information, like that of many a child, and so she hung off each and every word he said.

Even at five years of age Isolde knew little of what existed beyond the Schola's walls, with her father having made certain to keep her confined to it for her own safety: warnings of the dangerous monsters which lay beyond the Schola and city walls were enough to keep even the most mischievous of children in line, and so Isolde remained...but that did not mean her curiosity did not lay elsewhere.

For example, why was it that all of the visitors to the Schola and nearly all of its instructors were women? Isolde did not understand much of the difference between Human males and females, but the fact that other than her father she never saw an adult man was a point of fascination for her young mind. Even with how gender segregated Scholas tended to be she still knew there were plenty of boys being raised at the Schola, so what happened to the men outside there?

While not opposed to social interaction, Isolde had not yet gotten to know her fellow Progena well and so sat behind most of them by herself while her father spoke. While she could have tried taking a seat by his side she felt it would be improper and so suppressed the desire to do so, but she was at least kept company by a member of the local fauna which had joined the circle of children listening to the Commandant.

Also seated among the Schola's young were various Ixolotls, for the native creatures to Kimara possessed a natural innocence akin to that of the Progena present. Entirely tame and well mannered, they were as much a part of the scenery of everyday life on Kimara as snow itself and so them casually joining in on such an occasion was accepted as a part of life. What's more, given their simplicity of mind they were used by the Schola for various everyday tasks to conserve their limited manpower for more complex work, and their soft bodies and friendly disposition made them natural companions to the children, many of whom were lonesome when they first came to the Schola.

It was unlikely the Ixolotls could understand much if anything of the stories told in the library, but being communal animals they enjoyed being around others and even would mimic Human behavior on occasion: if the Humans by them were happy at what they heard then so were the Ixolotls, if they were sad then so too would the simple minded creatures. Anger was nearly anathema to them however, making them all the better as a companion to children whom might accidentally upset another animal in its place.

On the occasions the Commandant did personally teach the Progena it would be with stories rather than prayers they did not yet comprehend or rigid exercises meant to teach them letters, grammar, or other necessary functions for literacy. While the books he read from were no different than those used by his staff the excerpts he chose did, for it seemed that storytelling was a way to unwind for the former Commissar all the while contributing towards the education of those under his protection.

The story of the day followed the journey of Induro Beau, a boy whose genius was said to surpass that of almost any other. From his earliest days he was known to understand the inner workings of almost anything he laid eyes upon, and for this knowledge he was taken in and nurtured by the Tyrant of Larissa, the land he was found in, so that they might make use of him. Induro had never known his family, having been separated from them as an infant thanks to a conflict between his father and mother, though he knew none of that.

All Induro knew was that what he set his mind to he could accomplish, and that the people now surrounding him only cared for him so much as they would a prized tool. It is perhaps to be expected that those around him would see him as cold and distant, for he knew he did not belong yet had nowhere else to call home at the time. Despite his sour reaction to his surroundings his mind was fascinated by creation, and the boy dreamt of building a world one day where there would be no war or conflict. It was through this pursuit that he allowed his true self to shine past his cold façade, and those closest to him could see a boy whose heart was far warmer than others might first believe.

In the following years Induro would craft statues, erect monuments, and illustrate fantastic works of art all the while designing superior technology and systems to improve the lives of the people of Larissa. Despite this, the only thing he would become truly recognized for was his mind's penchant for war. For someone as intelligent as he was capable of outwitting those who came against him, be it in debate or be it in physical conflict. It was for this purpose that he was adopted by the ruling family of his nation, and for this reason he was put to use in conquering all who opposed them. His works of art would be neglected in favor of his military triumphs, and his technological innovation ignored for his people did not believe in the logic and reason which his mind was dominated by.

In contrast to Induro was his brother known as Thorne, a boy whose genius was also legendary and hailed far and wide. While similar to Induro in how he possessed a cold countenance, Thorne was disposed towards outright confrontation rather than brooding for he would always speak his mind and would never censor himself or his thoughts. Similarly lost to their family at a young age, Thorne upon being discovered in the prosperous nation of Gewissen was raised by a kindly man whom he would grow fond of in the years to come. Through this adopted kin's influence Thorne would rise to lead the people of Gewissen, eventually putting to work his own talented mind along with the vast technology at his disposal towards restoring a great fortress to its prime, one which would become his nation's pride.

The day would come that Induro would be found by his family once again and reunited with his lost kin, but not before Thorne himself was found. In the time between Thorne had proven himself a loyal and unquestioning son to the man he learned was the ruler of their world, and despite never seeking it outright would continually be granted his true father's approval and favor. Induro however, upon rejoining his family, would prove just as loyal and unquestioning for he felt like for once he truly belonged. That, now that he was free of the Tyrant who once enthralled him, he could put to use the talents wasted upon Larissa with no true outlet for his mind. After all Induro learned that he was not some mere orphan, but the son of the world's largest empire and thus a part of something far greater than he had ever imagined.

Unfortunately, just as with his adoptive family prior Induro would find himself cast in the role of a conqueror, for it was what his father needed from him to unify their planet's many nations and bring about peace. His father's intentions were nobler than those of his adoptive father's, for it was not hunger for power which drove him but rather a desire to help every citizen of the world...however in practice it called for the same actions and work from Induro. Day after day, year after year, he was made to suffer through unforgiving conflict after unforgiving conflict such that his father's empire might succeed. Where other commanders might waver or refuse to do battle, Induro was put to use for his mind and strength of will could carry him and his forces through to victory even if it would come at great cost.

While Thorne's great mind was also put to use in conquering, he also was given the honor of building the foundation of their empire: a grand palace with immense fortifications to withstand any foe. Given his forthright nature he even would claim that Induro could not conquer his palace, for Thorne was so sure of his own skill that it was inconceivable that even his similarly brilliant brother could overcome something of his creation. This claim, while not a boast, still incensed Induro who greatly desired the opportunity to build rather than destroy and yet was insulted by the brother given such an opportunity.

Induro had sought recognition from his father all this time and yet never received it, instead being used for thankless work no one else would do. The soldiers under his command were ravaged by the horrors of unending conflict and war without being granted reprieve, all without being hailed as heroes even as their brethren on other, easier battlefields were. Unsung heroes whose triumphs were ignored, or outright diminished: tale has it that in a conflict he fought alongside Thorne's forces that Thorne's men were granted glory even while Induro's were cast as weak, despite their having been the ones to sacrifice more to achieve victory. Induro and his men bled in battle after battle, with Induro's stubborn nature not allowing him to outright ask for the approval he sought: he thought his deeds and sacrifices would be shown the respect they were due, but instead was forced to watch as the mere words of others allowed them greater honor than he was ever afforded.

Eventually the day would come that Induro's once indomitable will would break, his dreams of a peaceful world crushed by the slaughter and depravity of war he had been forced through his entire life. Turning his back on his father, the now ruler of their planet, Induro refused to be taken for granted and so sought to tear down the empire he once helped build. Opposing him would be Thorne, ever the loyal son, and in the years to come their conflicts would ravage their once united world.

For Induro he felt he had no other option but to fight, as in his grief he had snapped and burned down the former nation he was raised within when it rose in rebellion against the empire. He felt he could no longer return to the empire, but also that it had used him not as a person but as a tool, and that the father he had been so comforted by meeting did not care for him at all except for his worth as a blunt instrument to destroy his foes. If he could not be allowed to build a peaceful world through the empire without sacrificing his humanity and everything else he had, then he would build one atop its ashes.

In time the sacrifices of Induro and his men would go from ignored to being entirely forgotten, or even reviled, while Thorne's legacy would be one of great heroism and triumph even after on one occasion sacrificing nearly all of the men under his command to prove himself Induro's superior only to fail in the endeavor. Even to the end he was certain he was better than Induro, though it is only by fate's fortune shining upon him that reinforcements came and saved him from his folly.

The traitorous forces would be quelled in time, and it would be the opinion of the victors that those who rose arms against them were weak fools whose own failings were to blame for their fall. So ended this story of the brothers Induro and Thorne, a smaller excerpt of a much larger tome, and which had other books about its events present in the Schola's library. Once finished with it the Commandant placed the book aside, a wistful look upon his face that was lost upon the children who had become enthralled by the tale's mention of various battles and conflicts. Some of the children were saddened by the outcome of the story, something sensed by the Ixolotls present who began to openly sob the tears the children had been disciplined into hiding. Earlier on they had been making joyous noises when Induro was reunited with his family, once again mirroring the emotions of the Progena.

"Why was Induro the bad guy?"

The Commandant smiled at his daughter's question, as if pleasantly surprised by her, "Because history is written by the victors. Life is not so simple as 'good' and 'bad', often being somewhere between the two. Knowing that is important to understanding one's enemy, as your enemies if they are a member of Mankind likely believe that they too are doing what is right. Induro's failings helped lead him to ruin, but things may have never come to that if his brother and father had acted differently as well. If you refuse to understand your foes you will have trouble defeating them, so even if you despise them to the last you must always understand their minds."

Other children asked questions about who would win in a fight, Induro or Thorne, as well as other such simple things one would expect of ones their age. Even Isolde's question was not that profound, instead being born of a child's confusion of why someone so abused was bad, but it would be one which she remembered in time just as she did the ringing in her ears. The Commandant would patiently answer the questions of the children, as well as promise to read more stories of both Induro and Thorne in the future, before moving on to reading more stories from ages ago.

It was an hour into the Commandant's reading of an ancient text speaking of the Great Crusade which once united humanity when loud voices interrupted the affair. While elsewhere a group of children no older than five might have grown bored, the Progena knew better than to show the Commandant anything but the utmost respect lest they be punished by the Abbots, a fear unfortunately not shared by the sources of the noise beyond the library's walls.

"Hey now, don't be so rude! We just wanna keep you some company...not like you Kimarans have any men left, right? The Governa' saw to that!"

The Schola's library had windows built into its inner walls to allow for observation of those within by passing Drill Abbots, something which allowed the Progena and their Commandant to now look outside and see what was the cause of the ruckus: three soldiers wearing customized Imperial Guard uniforms were cornering a Drill Abbess in the hallway beside the library, with the woman clearly trying to resist their advances while also restraining herself from retaliating.

That was the first time that Isolde saw a member of the Wostyn mercenaries loyal to nothing except themselves, having been hired en masse by the ruler of Kimara to impose order upon the world. To the young child she didn't understand the vile things they were asking the Abbess to perform, or why they were interested in her to begin with, but it was obvious that they were unwelcome.

Isolde had no way of knowing then that to earn the favor of local Imperial administrators the Planetary Governor had conscripted the entire male population of Kimara above the age of six to serve the Imperial Guard, with those too young to serve relegated to training camps and minor roles until they could properly serve. She also had no way of knowing that the unscrupulous Governor had done so for purely selfish reasons, or that those outside of the Schola were treated little better than the slaves and playthings of the Governor and his mercenaries.

As far as the Imperium knew Kimara had contributed greatly to their cause, and what did they care for how it was done? Kimara was a traitorous world who had sided with the Iron Warriors in the Horus Heresy, a reputation it had never recovered from and for which it had continually suffered for. What happened to its citizens was not the concern of the Administratum or other arms of the Imperium's government, so long as Kimara continued to pay its various tithes.

Isolde's confusion was broken when her father stood up and motioned for her to follow him, "Isolde, come with me. The rest of you, read pages 373-374 of your textbook. I will deal with this disruption swiftly and I expect you to be finished by then. Olym, read."

The Ixolotl named Olym wasted no time in sitting in the Commandant's seat and picking up his book, mimicking his previous behavior and going through the motions of reading to the class even though it had no ability to speak and in reality had its book upside down. This had the effect of distracting the children, for they found its behavior amusing and thus they did not notice the Commandant's reaching behind himself to check if the gun he kept hidden there was still present: Isolde had seen him holster it enough times to know what he was doing and so wondered what he was going to do with it as she followed behind him. On her way out of the room she nearly tripped over the puzzle another girl was piecing together in the library, though after this mishap Isolde hurried along to keep pace with her father's long strides.

Upon exiting the library Isolde came to notice that things were far worse than it seemed from within the library: strewn across the hallway were various injured Ixolotls, the large salamander-like creatures having been beaten by the mercenaries for being in their way. A boy of about seven or eight was bleeding further down the hallway, and the air reeked of a smell she would later learn was alcohol: the mercenaries despite their intimidating size had managed to drink themselves into a haze.

"Been awhile since I took a new pet, so what do you say? Wanna have some fun with us?" the largest of the mercenaries said, his words just the slightest bit slurred by his intoxication.

The Drill Abbess refused to allow the men to grope her any further, instead spitting in the face of the one who spoke, "I'd rather die than touch one of you animals."

The instant response was for the man many times the Abbess' overall size to backhand her onto the ground, prompting Isolde to cling to the doorway of the library even as her father continued forward. This was growing frightening, and she had never witnessed this kind of conflict before.

Climbing atop the Abbess, the mercenary reached down to grip her by the jaw and neck clumsily, "You see, it's that uppity attitude that got you all in trouble! First you killed our ancestors with the help of those petulant Iron Warriors, then you protected them when they turned on the Emperor! That's why we get to do what we want with ya now, you dirty mongrels. Nobody cares what happens to traitors like you, doesn't matter how much time it's been, you're nothin' but dirt."

Before things could progress further a tap on the mercenary's shoulder distracted him, and he was confused by an old sight appearing before him: that of an Imperial Commissar, something he had not witnessed since his time serving the Guard. After all it was not like there was anyone instilling discipline now, with even a Schola of all places not having the staff to keep out intruders such as him.

"Excuse me, sir. I am Commandant Eisen Kohlenstoff, and I would like to welcome you to my Schola," the Commandant explained, his voice far more respectful and kind than anyone would rightfully suspect in the circumstance.

"Huh?"

One of the others jabbed a finger in the Commandant's direction, though the action almost caused the horribly intoxicated man to fall over, "Hey guy, mind yor own business..."

"Yeah, you wanna get cons...consci...cripted too?" asked the last of them before pointing to the Wostyn regalia on his uniform demonstrating that he was a veteran of many battles.

Despite their confusion and irritation the Commandant remained calm and respectful, even bowing before them even as his voice adopted a mocking tone, "You fought alongside our governor some years ago as members of the Astra Militarum and fought against the enemies of humanity, so know that I am grateful for your service and respect the lives you must have saved."

The one still atop the Abbess chuckled to himself as he looked back to the other two, who looked down to him to share a dopy set of grins, "Hey, would you look at that! A Kimaran who knows their place...guess they ain't all traitorous whores after all..."

In the very next moment his head erupted in a spray of blood and gore, parts of his head littering the wall nearby them as the sound of the Commandant's bolt pistol rang out through the hallway. In bowing he had brought one arm forward and one back, allowing him to grab his pistol without any of the drunken fools noticing. They were well trained soldiers, of that there was no doubt since the Governor had only chosen the best for his retinue, but they were inhibited by the alcohol they consumed and too slow to react as the Commandant rapidly executed the other two men with the cruel, cold efficiency only a Commissar could boast.

"For promising servants of the Imperium to disrupt my Schola in a fit of drunken barbarism...such bad form. My authority comes from a higher power than the Planetary Governor, and it is not one to be crossed lightly."

Isolde's eyes were wide open even as the ringing sensation faded, having witnessed for the first time the true wrath of her father as well as the death of another Human being.

For most children perhaps this would be traumatizing to witness, or at the least scare them...but Isolde was no longer afraid like she had been when watching the mercenaries. The ruthless lessons of the Schola she had been taught day in and out already stayed with her, and so she accepted the fate of those slain like she would accept whatever other punishment was called for when crossing the Imperium.

They deserved it, and that was all there was to it. It was with this in mind that Isolde continued to look upon the sudden carnage, only coming to her senses once she realized her father was assisting the Abbess up from the ground and half-apologizing for the blood splattered on her. To mimic his behavior she set about helping the hurt and confused Ixolotls back to their feet, the soft creatures having been confused by the sudden abuse heaped upon them and true to form not fighting back given their lax nature. The creatures were seemingly grateful, offering her shiny marbles they had found in return before then setting off to carry what remained of the paperwork they were carrying to various offices in the Schola.

Once the Commandant had made certain his Abbess was alright he returned to Isolde's side, where he knelt down and brought a gentle hand to her face.

"I'm proud of you. You were brave when many others wouldn't be."

Reaching in to hug him, Isolde buried her face into her father's chest.

"They were the bad guys, right?"

"Yes...yes they were. Some day we will be free of cretins such as this, but not today. Not tomorrow. Our world is diseased, so we will endure it until the time comes when we can administer its cure."

"Cure?" Isolde asked innocently, prompting a warm grin from the man who so rarely showed emotion.

"You need not worry about that. Focus on your studies and you will be able to help make that future with your own two hands...just know that everything I do is for you, for our people, and for the Emperor."

It was with those words in heart and mind that Isolde slept soundly that night, sure as ever in the righteousness of the man who cared for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: While the main story will be following the tale of Jarn's Iron Warriors there will be an important subplot developing throughout on the planet of Kimara. The events on Kimara are not happening at the exact same time period as the Jarn segments thus far, but events will end up at the same point. I just find it important to show things before they become important so as to not deus ex machina or otherwise similarly pull things out of seemingly nowhere. More Iron Warriors next time, but I hope you enjoyed this look into the present day status of Jarn's homeworld.**
> 
> **Thank you for reading, and I hope you will bless me with your thoughts below!**


	6. "Ossus"

**OSSUS**

It was impossible for Tristan to keep track of time as it passed by upon the _Eisernen_ , never having been on nor seen such a vessel before and possessing only the limited framework his primitive world had afforded him to grasp his new surroundings. Further complications concerning time arose from the fact that he only had access to one part of the ship, which he perceived as a fortress of kinds given the appearance of its innards. Jarn kept him confined to his own quarters so he could keep an eye on Tristan during his gradual recovery from starvation, and so besides Jarn's own quarters Tristan only had access to a nearby facility to handle personal grooming and biological matters.

While many boys his age may have grown restless in such conditions Tristan was well acclimated to them by now: he had remained confined in his own home after he sealed himself inside following the deaths of his parents, and he had always possessed an introverted personality that saw him learning his father's craft and working on it while other boys in his village had gone out to play.

This introversion and desire to learn and carry out what he perceived as his duty to his family was the reason why Tristan was the sole survivor of his people and not the boys who spent their days rolling around in the dirt and engaging in jovial physical competitions. Had he been more social and less diligent he would have died right alongside all the others, and so the very reason for his survival allowed him to stand by within this small piece of the _Eisernen_ without complaint.

He was alive, he had someone helping him recover from his near death state, and so he endured the tedium. It helped that while within Jarn's quarters Tristan was able to learn through observation as well as trial and error about various mechanical devices present, and while he did not yet understand them he was able to grasp their general concepts: the device which emitted light was not a torch or similar flaming object, nor was it some kind of sorcery spoken about in his people's books, but rather it drew energy from some unseen device just like some weapons Jarn tinkered with drew their own power from something within them. It was in this way by relating one concept to another that he came to grasp his surroundings fairly quickly, and in doing so unknowingly confirming Jarn's suspicions about his intellect.

As far as Jarn was concerned Tristan would never be the strongest of his Astartes should he even succeed in becoming one, but his mind was sharp and that was a strength in and of itself. That he found a boy possessing a mind that was reminiscent of Perturabo's own ability to understand things intrinsically was not an opportunity to be passed by, not after serving centuries with the Iron Warriors and helping recruit thousands of them into the Legion to replenish their losses. Some lives were best used by spending them like bullets to achieve a goal, but there were individuals that possessed far greater worth: Forrix, Asier, and Jarn himself for example stood above their kin, and now he had two promising recruits to perhaps one day join their ranks.

Time would tell if the boys would truly live up to his expectations.

Given that he was expected to recover before he would begin accompanying Jarn elsewhere on the _Eisernen_ Tristan was provided regular meals which were brought to him by Arien, the Warsmith's animal companion who typically resided in Jarn's personal quarters as well. While initially distrusting of the creature that was around his own height given its small eyes and odd nature Tristan had grown used to its presence, as it was the one bringing him food multiple times a day to consume. The lax creature would even sleep beside him in the bed Jarn had arranged for Tristan, and its soft body would even help the boy rest after waking from the nightmares plaguing him since the death of his family.

Once Tristan was no longer skin and bones Jarn had lead him to another part of the ship, leading Tristan through various corridors that appeared labyrinthine and past other giants in heavy armor much like Jarn himself. The sight of these Iron Warriors was a first to Tristan, who had only been conscious while in the presence of Jarn himself and Arien prior, and so as they passed he found himself awed as these giants all paid respect to the Warsmith. He did not quite understand the full hierarchy or organization he had been recruited into, but he was content to learn and observe in the meantime while for now perceiving them as being like the knights of his homeworld.

It was not long before the hallways brought them to the destination Jarn sought, with Tristan finding himself now inside of a large room with countless instruments and tools that he did not know the purpose of yet could at least gleam basic information from: many of them were like knives meant to cut a variety of objects with varying sizes and precision, while others like the long pointed needles were entirely new to him. While knives and their attached mechanisms at least registered as something familiar, he had never witnessed a medical needle or anything of the sort before and so could only liken it to the thread-needle his mother would use to sew his clothing.

Inside the room was yet another armored figure, with this one possessing quite unique facets to his suit just as Jarn did: instead of having armor that towered even over the other giants Tristan had witnessed, the Astartes in this room had a variety of sharp objects connected to his wrists that were reminiscent of a spear tip yet patterned differently in a twisting spiral. From their appearance Tristan guessed that they could move like the mechanical arm on Jarn's back, but rather than manipulate like an extra limb they appeared to just be able to revolve around a single point, likely to pierce whatever was needed.

With their arrival Jarn outstretched a hand to gesture to the other Astartes in the room while casting his own gaze down to Tristan so as to instruct him as he had about various things in the preceding days.

"Ossus is our Apothecary and in charge of medical operations and our Neophytes. It is he who you will have to prove yourself to in order to join our ranks, as he will oversee your physical and mental conditioning when you come of age."

While unfamiliar with the terms used Tristan could at least follow the general idea of what was being said: this was some form of medical staff who would be observing him to determine if he was worthy of becoming one of them. While an intimidating prospect it was not as terrifying as facing down the minions of Chaos and their Daemonic allies, something Tristan had previously consigned himself to dying from, so while he was still as afraid as a boy his age ought to be he was able to hide it better.

Ossus, the chief apothecary of the Iron Legion, nodded as he looked over Tristan to check on his status using the scanning technology in his helmet, "I see that you are feeling better. Upon your arrival to the _Eisernen_ I saw to replenishing your nutrients and hydration to stabilize your condition. I trust that Arien supplied you the diet I put together for your recovery since."

For the first time since he ran out of food Tristan had awoken without hunger upon the _Eisernen_ , and while he was unsure as to how this Astartes had remedied the issue he was grateful all the same. He had heard in his village that it took only a few weeks for someone to starve to death, and while he may have lost track of the days then and now he was still quite certain he had been brushing up against his own expiration date.

"You have my thanks," Tristan offered along with a respectful bow taught to him by his father to greet nobles and valued customers.

Ossus appeared amused by the respect given to him, though why was lost on Tristan, "You ought save them. The coming procedures will be long and tiresome as I test your body, mind, and spirit for corruption. Other Legions may be more lax in their screening, but our Warsmith is strict and rightly so. We shall not place our lives at risk heedlessly by welcoming in those tainted by the Ruinous Powers."

Standing up fully again, Tristan noticed something else about the room: besides the various tools for seemingly medicinal usage there were paintings and other forms of artistry that completely contradicted the barren hallways he had traversed to come here. While Jarn's own room was fairly sparse outside of its workshop and an altar of sorts, this one was completely furnished with a myriad of objects that Tristan had never laid eyes upon in his peasant life upon his world.

While the boy's attention was transfixed on Ossus' personal belongings lining his workspace the Apothecary spoke with Jarn briefly, "Before we begin, Warsmith, may I ask where Fabius Bile plays into this recruit?"

Jarn shook his head, "This boy will remain with us. Bile can have the captured Astartes and their followers for his experiments, just as agreed, but I will not have this one subjected to his whims. We provide him plentiful resources and that is enough for the time being."

Information gathered by their forces some time ago had led to an alliance with the infamous Fabius Bile that Jarn brokered to, in his words, ensure the survival of their Legion. Only his chief officers such as Ossus, Asier, and others of their prestige knew of the specifics, so rather than neglect the matter Ossus felt he ought to at least ask.

"Very well. I will inform you of our progress as it develops."

"Do those tests that are necessary, but hold those which could prove lethal in his condition for now. We have time on our side given his age."

"Affirmative, Warsmith."

Once their conversation ceased Jarn returned his attention to Tristan, who he found inspecting the device upon Ossus' wrist while maintaining his distance from the threatening object. Chances were the boy was fearful that such a tool would be used on him soon, and while he _would_ be subjected to many of the instruments in Ossus' arsenal he did not need to fear the more deadly of them since they were for different circumstances.

"Do not be afraid. There will be pain, but should you endure it you will be one step closer to felling those who took your home from you," Jarn promised, prompting a quiet nod from Tristan. Both he and Jarn were stoic by nature, and so in the days leading to this much of it had gone without talking at all: just observation of Jarn's work on his personal arsenal.

Once Jarn left and the door to the room shut behind him Tristan felt a shiver up his spine, doing his best to maintain a strong façade even as he inherently feared the dangerous tools surrounding him. At Ossus' indication Tristan climbed atop an examination table in the room, and soon found himself laying down atop it as the Apothecary fastened restraints to keep the boy in place.

"I will prepare anesthetics for you such that you will not feel the worst of it, but this will not be easy. You have my apologies in advance even though this is a necessary procedure."

Unlike Jarn the Apothecary had a more affable nature, but it was mostly wasted upon Tristan at the moment for he was doing his best to prepare himself for what was to come: just as he had repeated a mantra to himself to calm his nerves even as his village was slaughtered around him with the horrific screams of everyone he knew ringing out, he did so now based on what he had heard from Jarn even if he did not yet know its significance or greater meaning.

_Iron within._

The repetition of those two words within his head and the desire to one day overcome those who took his family from him were all Tristan had in the proceeding days as his body was subjected to countless agonizing tests. Every inch and pore of his body was examined, his blood drawn for testing by the 'threading-needles' he saw before, small pieces of his flesh removed to be sampled by various blades, and so it went on for what felt like an eternity.

When Tristan awoke days later from his pain and drug induced stupor it was once again in Jarn's personal quarters, though this time he had bandages and various ointments applied to his body to assist in his recovery. Beside him was Arien, who had decided that sleeping beside the warm Human under the covers was nice, and so Tristan rose a weakened hand to the animal's soft forehead.

Seeing as how he was not killed like the 'Beasts' were Tristan was left to figure that he was not corrupted like them, and that he had passed the agonizing tests...

Despite this, the worst had yet to come, for there were many more trials yet to follow that would make those excruciating moments feel as if they had been respite.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**TRAHAEARN OF THE JARN CLAN**

The early settlements of Kimara saw its population faced with grim tragedy and a myriad of hardships, but the brutality of the planet also allowed for the strongest among them to rise by proving their worth. It is in this way that Trahaearn's own family came to rise to prominence and nobility, with his father having risen from a common member of the mining staff to the owner and overseer of many of the planet's mining operations. With their influence they would come to rule one of Kimara's fortress cities, and in time it would prosper given the way they invested their personal resources in improving it whenever and however possible.

Their family business would allow Trahaearn to grow up assisting his father across the various landscapes upon Kimara, as even as relatively wealthy as they were there was no place for idle hands among their people. Starting at the age of six, Jarn would work in the mines himself and help protect their convoys when necessary from predators and pirates both. It was thanks to this that he would be capable of lending aid to the Iron Warriors upon their arrival on the planet, and why as a recruit of the Great Crusade he possessed greater stamina and strength than many of his Terran-born counterparts. It was a burden on Jarn's soul to leave behind his mother, father, and even his wife given the incredibly young age Kimarans were expected to marry, but the same sense of duty that had him serve his father's company while only a child also saw him willing to serve an even greater purpose.

Even with his physicality Jarn had to undergo many trials and train relentlessly before he became an Astartes, but when the day came he was proud to receive the Gene Seed of none other than Forrix himself. Forrix had personally recruited him and even at times gave him additional lessons to help his ease into the role of Neophyte, for even fledgling Astartes were still Human and in need of proper guidance. To some it seemed that Forrix was crafting a future right hand man, and after participating in numerous successful campaigns under Forrix's command Jarn did play such a role for some time in the Great Crusade.

This rapid climb in rank was not without merit, for by the time Jarn turned 100 in Terran years he had conquered worlds for the Iron Warriors and fought against both Xenos and rebellious members of Humanity who did not wish to submit themselves to Imperial rule. His massive size and subsequent strength made him suited for breaching enemy fortifications, while his mind and skills honed by Forrix allowed him to properly orchestrate large forces to achieve their objectives with minimal losses. While accepting of the sacrifice of those under his command records would indicate that with time Jarn's tactics would shift to be safer without risking mission efficacy, perhaps indicating his change of heart well before Perturabo's discovery.

If he was to possess a particular flaw it would be his complacency and lack of aspiration, for Jarn was content doing as he was told and his will remained resolute so long as he could think of how his duties helped keep the people of Kimara safe. It is this that saw him willingly be assigned to garrison his home planet by Horus himself, in spite of Forrix's disagreement to the decision and in spite of the Fourth Legion's ranks being spread thinner and thinner as the Great Crusade continued. While at the time he took it as a badge of honor, Jarn would later come to believe that it was a deliberate attempt to remove him from the equation as Horus continued to stretch the Iron Warriors between countless garrisons and battlefronts, ultimately resulting in their snapping years down the line. More than Perturabo, more than the Emperor, he would blame this conscious choice of Horus for the fall of the Fourth Legion.

**JARN'S RETURN**

Despite his later misgivings at the time of his assignment Jarn was content with himself, having earned the title of Warsmith thanks to his efforts and being allowed to take a handpicked staff of Astartes and menials to return to Kimara to garrison it. He had heard little of its status in the near century since his departure, and so it was his hope that he could contribute to its prosperity now that he was rejoining his kin.

Years prior, with the Iron Warriors' assistance in quelling the local threats, the citizens of Kimara were able to make overtures to a golden age of their society, as for once they had breathing room with which to not just survive but to also begin flourishing. While outright conflict was not allowed between the various fortress cities of Kimara given that such a thing would result in their mutual destruction previously, historically tensions still arose between various regions for reasons ranging from mining rights to perceived economic superiority between traders and laborers. This shift would help bring an end to that, and instead helped bring about mutual economic development.

Before the first arrival of the Iron Warriors the Conomor Clan of Kimara had united the various city states through raw charisma which ran quite contrary to the typical nature of those on Kimara, and it was thanks to their diplomacy and championing various social causes that saw them peacefully rule. While some questioned the fact that the Conomors were relatively new to Kimara and came with great wealth which allowed them to focus on diplomacy rather than toil in the harsh landscape of Kimara, many were pleased to just have someone else taking care of that side of things while they placed their own attention on matters of food and security.

Upon Jarn's return he would be surprised to learn that the Conomor Clan that the Jarn family had supported had fallen from power, instead replaced by Jarn's own family in ruling all of Kimara. The Conomor patriarch had fallen ill at a time he possessed no clear successor, and so it fell to the Jarn Clan to take their place in maintaining present relations. Their working class background had brought them support from all of the cities of Kimara, and when it became known that their heir had joined the ranks of the Iron Warriors who saved Kimara that initial renown was amplified many times over.

Of greater surprise to Jarn was that it was none other than his own flesh and blood descendant was the present planetary governor of his homeworld, as the childhood companion who had been arranged to become his wife had born Jarn a son after his departure. Unfortunately both his wife and son would pass away far before their time, just as his parents would, thanks to illness seemingly born of the planet's relentless winter and brutality. However his son had not died before possessing an heir himself, and so it is in this manner that Jarn met the current leader of not only his family but also the planet he once left.

Despite the generally somber and cold nature of Kimara's population they welcomed the Iron Warriors with open arms and celebration, as it was thanks to the fortifications the Iron Warriors had built for them and the artillery left for their needs that the planet's population had kept safe over the years. Tales of their great strength and indomitable will had been passed down from parents to children, for loyalty to those who did right by them was an important trait in their culture. It is thanks to this that the garrison of a hundred Iron Warriors was given complete authority by Kimara's ruler and people without question, and how Jarn would in the proceeding years work alongside his grandson in further uplifting their people.

**THE 'IRON AGE' OF KIMARA**

While a period of great prosperity is typically labeled a 'golden age', it is perhaps a reflection of Kimaran culture that they would substitute the word 'iron' for gold in the years following to describe the tenure of Trahaearn Jarn as de facto ruler of their world. Some historians would note the similar sounding nature of 'Iron Age' and 'Iron Cage', with the population perhaps adopting the term in the years after the Horus Heresy to mock the folly of the Imperial Fists, but such ideas are unconfirmed and no Kimaran would outwardly say as much even if it were true.

The Warsmith's planet had already been unified under the growing influence and power of his family, setting an easy stage for him to enact changes as he saw fit without the populace questioning him or his methods. Building upon the improvements Forrix's Astartes had made, Jarn established a refined system of defenses for each fortress city that saw them possess a dome-like shape with shifting armor to reinforce as necessary and to also allow for the artillery within to fire without retaliation able to strike the batteries while reloading. While the thinning of the local wildlife had made life easier on Kimara its dangerous monsters still on occasion posed severe threats, making this 360 degree firing arc with multilayered protection ideal for handling both threats from the land and sky.

For artillery Jarn would station a growing amount of Basilisks and Hydras at each city to handle whatever threats may loom, and space would be made in the fortresses to have up to a hundred Basilisks firing simultaneously with rapid redeployment available as necessary to change firing arcs. The once resilient fortress cities had become nigh impervious to outside threats, with the harsh nature of Kimara threatening outsiders just as much as the artillery itself would. To offer protection between cities sensor arrays were established within outposts that would survive the conditions of Kimara, with each of them capable of providing precise coordinates of threats be they pirates or monsters.

This rapid expansion was assisted by the Mechanicus, who possessed more radical members who sought to use Kimara for their own purposes to develop technology incorporating the planet's mithril. With various fortresses becoming forges for the Mechanicus they were able to greatly increase the planet's production rates, and it is with their aid that Kimara would become able to build its own native artillery rather than needing to requisition it from elsewhere. The good relationship between the Iron Warriors and Mechanicus over the coming years would result in a similarly positive relationship between the Mechanicus and Kimara, and it would remain as such until the outbreak of the Horus Heresy.

To further the prosperity of his homeworld Jarn saw to it that new fortress cities were erected at strategic points, eventually forming a hexagon grid across Kimara's continents where each point would possess a minor city, and the center of numerous of those arranged in a hexagon would possess a greater fortress. The space between these would be enough that they were not redundant in purpose, but which using the sensory arrays and communications could fire upon any threats to the three other fortress cities they drew a line to. This meant that if any one of them was in danger and an enemy was too close for its own artillery to be very effective that the others could fire upon the enemy still and protect them.

While a member of another Legion would say that these defenses were overkill, to Jarn it was simply the only way to properly colonize his world while ensuring that no outside threat could ever endanger them again: he sought to conquer the wilderness of Kimara without directly changing it, all the while gaining access to its vastly unexplored territories for Kimara as a planet had vast untapped resources given its inhospitable nature. Jarn had witnessed many more prosperous worlds in his time serving under Forrix and he wanted for his own people to flourish as those of other worlds were allowed to, so he worked tirelessly for decades alongside his fellow Astartes and mortal kin to bring this idea to reality.

Be it infrastructure or implementing programs to encourage population growth to one day inhabit the newly constructed cities Kimara continued to rapidly develop in those years under the rule of Trahaearn, but progress would slow when he and his men were recalled to join the primary Iron Warriors forces upon the discovery of Perturabo: Jarn would remain with his fellow Astartes in the years to come while only a skeleton crew of them remained upon Kimara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** A/N: I have added a proper codex cover image to the beginning of the thread now that I have mixed images together to form one for our usage here, and so to let people know about this addition I have included it here as well. I posted a preliminary version a few days back but I have improved it since, so hopefully it looks good enough for the time being with my meager editing skills. **   
>  ** Some more story, some more world building, and a cover, this update's got quite a lot in it and I hope you all enjoyed and will let me know your thoughts in the comments below! **


End file.
